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LC Oct 26
every time I close my eyes,
my life beats behind my eyelids
like the wings of a butterfly
as questions form the rhythm
of a song that constantly plays.
Brumous Jun 15
I've been playing music so loud,
no matter what I do, my thoughts never sink and drown
I haven't lived a quarter of my life
yet every day feels a little shorter

I'm scared.

Time feels as if it's fleeting but, it's dreadfully slow.
How fast does this pace go?
I'm still not good enough,
it hurts

No one is chasing me.
These shaking hands can't hold a spoon;
I'm forcing myself to take a spoonful of knowledge,
to be something...
someone
Brumous Jun 15
I've been playing music so loud,
no matter what I do, my thoughts never sink and drown
I haven't lived a quarter of my life
yet every day feels a little shorter

I'm scared.

Time feels as if it's fleeting but, it's dreadfully slow.
How fast does this pace go?
I'm still not good enough,
it hurts

No one is chasing me.
These shaking hands can't hold a spoon;
I'm forcing myself to take a spoonful of knowledge,
to be something...
someone

swallow
no, don't.

you ended up vomiting;
isn't it great?

It's too early to soar high, bound by a plastic cage.
I stood by the lake and left myself to drown.
.
.
.
.
stay there for a while
Tammy Cusick Aug 2019
Billowed down onto natures bust
a face full of dirt
a mouth full of maggots
corpsing coercion onto frantic plates
slopping up the juicy details
derailing off the tracks
into a new train of nature,
saving only what comes of value
yet, you don't save yourselves.

Lucrative hands slithering softly by
ready to steal your life with just a touch
how much are you worth?
Unfortunately, nothing.
Tatiana Jun 2019
.................................................................­...............................
If there is somebody listening, please let me know,
so I can shield my thoughts so you don't get lost.
It's a twisting, weaving, nightmarish maze in my head.
Don't listen so closely, you won't like what is said.

If I drive into this pole I would-
DIE yeah I know that brain thanks for-
PLAYING with his heart! She's playing-
GAMES which game? What do-
YOU want to know? How much wood-
WOULD anyone care if I jumped off a cliff-
RATHER than learning how to fly, I just-
AVOID the treacherous oceans of my-
MIND the gap, mind the gap, mind-
THE best of times, it was the worst of-
TIMES, divide, subtract-
ADD a face to a name and see its-
LIES that stab me like swords and I-
CRY from happiness, the world is okay.


If there is somebody listening, please let me know,
so I can shield my thoughts so you don't get lost.
It's a twisting, weaving, nightmarish maze in my head.
Don't listen so closely, you won't like what is said.
..........................................................­......................................
©Tatiana
Sometimes one word can trigger a newish thought which just leads to a bizarre continuation of the previous thought.
Die playing games you would rather avoid. Mind the times. Add lies. Cry.
Olive Sep 2018
The panic is building inside,
Making it feel like a rollercoaster ride.
I thought that I was happy,
But now unlocked feelings have set free,
Leaving me with inner conflict,
Unsure which direction to pick.
My stomach tightens at thought of action,
While my former strength loses traction,
One moment I want to flee,
The next moment I am proud to be.
What am I running from this time?
Would playing hookie be such a crime?
If it meant discovering this truth,
And abandoning this depressing sleuth.
I want to shake off this darkness,
Before I am left feeling sparkless.
I want to break down these walls,
Before another part of me falls,
Leaving me a shell of myself,
Hungry for knowledge and lacking wealth.
I must invite the light in,
So that this darkness will spin.
I still feel the rumble of panic,
Leaving my thoughts helpless and frantic,
Encouraging motivation to flee,
So I can be alone, and free.
Panicking...
bakunawa Apr 2018
Laughter turned to screams without Her.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
----request by Erza: piece about H----
If she
did hollowly
aggress me
in distemper
she's but
a shoe
in these
oboes then
a girl
as somebody
that shan't
belay my
forethought in
ways that
shapely her
heart that
matters more
A girl I know today
Bella Nov 2017
Am I the,
Artistic type?
The one who sees the world through a different lens
who turns sounds into colors
and sites in to Smells
into feeling
and two children running are not children running
they’re Happiness
Joy
their giggles turn into Yellow and Pastel Pink
turn to Sunshine
turn to Waking
turn to Serenity
Relaxing on the beach
where you can hear the baby blue and white waves
and see the soft calming sand slipping through your fingers and toes
turning to…

Maybe-- I am the,
Partying type.
Ragers
Dance Grinding
music Pounding
the same beat of our heads
of our bodies
flashing lights
the dark and the heat
Wild
Drinking Screaming
loving one another with our bodies
not caring who it is
because
our bodies don't care
if we are in sync
what is the difference
the same…

What if I'm the,
Frantic type?
the Busy type
Scrambling, Rushing
time is something I don't have Time for
running is my Past
if only I had Passed Time
noise flies by
not looking anywhere but straight
car horns, buildings, wind blowing
the sound of friction across my own skin and the skin of those like me.
that is my Familiarity
Air I do not Breathe
it flows through me.
it hits me and I consume it
I do not Break for it
I cannot Break for it
I…

How about,
the Silent One?
nose in a book,
hearing the voices in the background.
looking up occasionally, to see the others.
see their confusion.
their Hindsight is my Foresight,
I understand what will happen before it does.
because,
I've seen it before,
I can look ahead,
see the outcome,
slow down the world like it's a video in an editing software that I can stop.
Slow down.
Rewind.
Rewatch.
that I can…

Perhaps,
I am all of them.
Perhaps,
it doesn't matter.
I can turn the sounds rushing by me hitting my skin into color
I can separate time into partying and people watching
Both are possible.
life doesn't have to pass in one form,
it can be Technicolor
and Beautiful at the same time.
sound can pass into colors
and life can either Fly
or Pause-- and drag on.
Either way, it's okay--
because it's me.
sweet ridicule Sep 2017
I wash my hands constantly, as the smell of anything unnatural makes me uneasy. I smell the tips of my fingers and the palms of my hands nervously; the smell of metal, carpet, and reluctance all trapped between my fingers nauseate me. I run to the sink and pump soap into my hands before frantically rubbing them together, forming as many bubbles as possible.

I only like my hands when they smell like soap or oranges or lavender.

I have nightmares about you during the day. I sit awake and wonder how much of you was real and how much is just sound that I created in a desperate leap for love. The leap I swore I would take over and over again.

There is paint on my arms and my hands right now and all I can think about is how i wish I were an artist
I wish i could draw myself into things the way I can push myself into things that hurt

My mom told me I am brave that I am fearless that I just do things
but I think I am reckless with myself
the way I run into pain face first and tear into it with my fists over
and over again
I have never been afraid of change
The way pain rolls over you and makes your stomach convulse
your whole body week and your sobs so huge that they don’t make sound beyond the frantic gasp for air at the end

I have always been to proud of being human
for some reason I think that the way I feel the way I live is somehow monumental
running into things over and over again
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